Manager Kim looked around the emergency meeting convened by the CEO.
At the head sat CEO Jeon Nam-il, with Executive Director Park, Director Choi, the general operations head, Manager Oh from Management Team 1, and himself.
In other words, every core figure inside Management was present.
What on earth…?
Why had the CEO suddenly summoned all key personnel?
Cold sweat gathered in Kim’s palm as he failed to guess the reason.
“Good evening, CEO!”
Jeon Nam-il walked in wearing an unreadable expression.
“You all set other business aside to be here, so I’ll skip the preamble and speak to the point.
Everyone here knows the salon called Charom, yes?”
Faces in the room nodded as if the question were too obvious.
Charom had been LS Entertainment’s partner salon for years; every contracted artist used it.
How could anyone not know?
Kim, however held a very different view of Charom after hearing Hyunseung’s story.
Why bring it up now? An “emergency meeting” hardly seemed the place.
“I think it’s time we changed salons.”
The CEO’s lips opened at last, and the room gasped, “Pardon?”
But Jeon shut his ears to reactions and continued in a level voice.
“Conduct a full audit of Charom and sever ties. Then prepare a list of replacements for my approval.”
For Kim, the direction was welcome, but the mystery remained.
The CEO had never involved himself in salon matters, let alone called an emergency meeting for them.
The others clearly wondered the same.
“Excuse me, Sir,” Executive Director Park ventured, visibly flustered.
“After a decade of smooth cooperation, why change now and with an audit, no less?”
“Frankly, I don’t understand,” he added.
“I don’t fully know myself,” Jeon said. “It is Master Lee Du-seok’s instruction.”
Several people nearly yelped aloud. That was unexpected. First Charom, now Lee Du-seok?
“Master Lee advised it, so I deemed it in our interest.”
Seated at the edge of the sofa, Kim actually shivered.
No one dared question further once the word “interest” left the CEO’s mouth.
Yes, Jeon Nam-il was that kind of man: if a matter wasn’t tied directly to numbers, he rarely cared. He was a person seemingly made of 0s and 1s, with molten steel in place of blood.
At times that distance was unnerving, but today Kim found it oddly reassuring.
Yet he occasionally imagined the blade called “interest” turning on him, and the thought made his skin crawl. Jeon was not someone you wanted as an enemy.
One month. That was all it had taken for Hyun Ji-young’s revenue to drop to a third.
She had expanded and taken loans and investment. She first delayed staff salaries, then laid off non-essentials, but she was still in the red.
For ten plus years, Charom had been booked solid from dawn to night.
Then bookings ebbed. Suddenly, not a single LS artist showed up.
There was no explanation and her frustration grew.
She contacted Executive Director Park, the man who had first linked her salon to LS.
Now she waited in a café, heel tapping nervously.
“Director Park!”
She forced a breezy smile. “It’s been too long.”
“I’m well,” he said, accepting the coffee she’d ordered.
“You wanted something?”
He drained the cup at once, set it down. “If this is just for the coffee, I’m busy.”
“P-please wait! Have you switched salons?”
She hit the worry dead-on.
“Oh? Our artists don’t go anymore. Could’ve phoned to ask, you know.”
The answer she dreaded. Park’s face was utterly nonchalant. He was not a man to joke.
“Really? Why? Why change all of a sudden?”
“Need a reason? We audited you and moved to a better shop.”
“An audit? Out of nowhere?”
“Yes. A thorough one.” He crunched the ice in his empty cup, adding with a sneer: “You should’ve run the place properly. I’d have helped, but things got… difficult.”
Ji-young scoffed. They had always catered to celebrities and the wealthy; public “reputation” meant nothing.
“After all these years, you cut ties for that?”
“We can’t send our artists somewhere that grades clients by how much they spend.”
“Why are you doing this to me? I’ve helped you in every way.”
“And I helped you. I opened doors to other agencies, made you a lot of money.”
She realized pleading would not work. Time to draw the knife she’d prepared.
“If you keep this up, I’ll drag you down with me. I kept records of every payoff.”
Surprisingly, Park looked more amused than worried.
“Honestly, Ji-young… are you a dog? Can’t understand words and just bite?”
“What—”
“You think our CEO, whose eyes miss nothing, doesn’t know where my slush funds go? He’s left you alone because you were small and cute. Do as you like. You’re already beyond my help.”
She clutched his sleeve. “We’ve known each other over ten years! At least tell me why!”
Shrugging off her hand, Park rose.
“Because you ran your mouth.”
“I always treated you well!”
“Not me. Someone above me.”
“The CEO?”
“Higher.”
“Higher than him?!”
Park chuckled. Someone up there had moved titans, but he knew exactly whose face hovered at the top of that sky.
“Way up there,” he said, pointing playfully upward. “Now, I really must go. Good luck.”
He left.
Ji-young, alone, muttered in despair.
“This can’t be…”
Then, as though a desperate plan struck her, she snapped her fingers and called her son.
“Sweetie, are you home?”
—Yeah, why?
“Have you asked Hyuna to come over yet?”
—I texted like you said. She hasn’t answered.
“And her brother… he works at an entertainment company, right? Do you know which?”
—How would I know!
The call cut off.
Grinding her heels into the floor, Ji-yeong let out a silent scream.
Before starting the grueling second year of med school, Hyuna vowed to get her driver’s license.
After failing road test three times, she finally passed. She had no car, but someday it would matter.
One thing she learned, though, was her brother’s popularity.
Whether passing a phone shop, a big café, or a car idling beside her, Min Hyunseung’s songs poured out.
Even while waiting for the test, she overheard nothing but talk of him: the chart dominated by Choi Jihyun tracks; practicing the “Etchis!” challenge; who would be number one today; did it matter now… and endless debate whether HS and Choi Jihyun were the same person.
All names, both pen-names, were her brother’s.
What a weird hobby, she thought. Why juggle two identities and sow confusion?
She opened the chart:
[TOP 100]
1 A.N.P – Seo Jini
2 Blue Spring – Choi Jihyun (feat. Kim Gwang-jin)
3 Out to Sea – Choi Jihyun (with NY Phil & Lee Ga-hee)
4 Sweet Sleep – Choi Jihyun (feat. Kang Hajun)
5 I Wish – Choi Jihyun (feat. Moon Beom-jae)
6 Polaroid – Choi Jihyun (feat. Lee Young-ah)
7 To You Who Only Had Me – Yoon Jaeyi
8 Yoonseul – Kang Hajun
9 Dear My Beethoven – HS (feat. Moon Beom-jae)
10 Le Seul – The Moon
Every song in the top ten was composed by her brother. Incredible. And none looked ready to budge.
A.N.P and Blue Spring were locked in a daily struggle for #1.
So this is what “fighting yourself” looks like, she mused and suddenly his odd hobby made a bit more sense.
She recalled scolding him for those thirty-one MacBooks. Yes, excessive, but it was simply his way of showing care.
Actually, others had changed their attitudes toward her. She had snapped at the wrong person. Perhaps her brother had given her the perfect filter for people.
Min Hyuna, you’re awful.
Next time she saw him, she must say thank you… and sorry.
Ding!
A text from Oppa:
Grab the notebook on my desk and bring it to N-Café near LS in four hours.
…Of course.
Payment for errand upon delivery.
“Why does he always forget things!”
Muttering, she took the notebook. Not just for the errand money: that battered book held the chicken scratch notes he never worked without.
On my way!
Maybe she should ask him to buy her a little used car. It could be handy for these errands. The search bar on her phone now read “Mooning compact used car prices.”
Leave a Reply to SaiCancel reply